Well. Steppe Archer wanted to kill him. A vein was visibly bulging on Steppe Archer's forehead, and through grit teeth she was about to return fire on this pig-smelling metal-polishing badger-eyed beanpole-masquerading-as-a-man-in-pants double burlap'd looking shinier-poop-than-thou looking ass of a storekeep, the thing that just about anyone ever coming in here could have wanted to happen happened. A big 'ol punch straight to his gut. 

[color=CC6633][b]"I like him!"[/b][/color] the archer said, clearly meaning the blacksmith which, despite having DECKED HIS SON, had infinitely more manners than the boy did. And more muscles. 

With their lizard companion working on warming the room up with casual conversation and a discussion of goods, the archer would slowly take the sheathed sword off of her back and gently lay it on the countertop. [color=CC6633][b]"We also found this, Mr. Blacksmith."[/b][/color] The sword wasn't a masterpiece or anything, but it was clear that the steel was of good quality, and the usage was light enough that the smith could resell it real easy. 

[b]"Hrm...fine blade. Why get rid of it? Can see the rust on your hilt from here,[/b] the blacksmith asked, to which the archer raised her arms and said: [color=CC6633][b]"My arms are a little too short. And it'd be a pain to have a sword that big with me when I use a bow a lot."[/b][/color]

Looking the blade over in addition to the scrap offered, the blacksmith seemed to be running numbers in his head. [b]"Going'ta hafta sharpen the rust off of these, but all together they might have some use. I'll give ya-"[/b]

"You aren't SERIOUSLY buying their scraps, are you pops!?" The shopkeep asked, having regained enough breath to go from wheezing to panting, supported by one arm on the counter. 

[b]"I'm a blacksmith, ya bleeding fool! We make do, and do it with whatever comes our way. 'Sides, steel like this is just fine for novices. Doesn't take more than a good [i]WHACK[/i] to get a rat from the sewers,"[/b] The smith explained to his son, emphasizing by slamming his fist so hard for the "whack" on the counter that his son's arm slipped, causing him to plant his cheek onto the counter. 

[b]"This much for the rusted bits, and this sword...this much,"[/b] the smith said, detailing the currency they'd gain that the person writing this is too stupid to denominate because medieval currency conversion rates were a bitch and a half. But from what anyone could tell the price was fair...maybe even moreso. 

[b]"You lot look like you could use a place to spend that coin. Armor, weapons, repairs, come to me for any of that. That is, if me lout of a boy hasn't soured this store. Again."[/b]

[color=CC6633][b]"He almost did. Buuut, that was a pretty good punch. And I like your beard. You both okay with the offer?"[/b][/color] The archer turned to her companions to see how they felt. It was certainly a good offer as far as anyone could tell, but none of them really had experience with mercantilism. For all anyone knew they were getting lowballed and about to walk out having less money than they could have. This was why scrolls of identify were nice.